The Bad Year, Or: Sharing is Love

Words are finally starting to come back, but mostly I’ve been spending time with friends and expressing my emotions through marker pens, glue, and kitchenware rescued from junk shops.

One of the breadboards. The knife isn’t included; it’s just there for context.

This has been a rough year for various reasons, chock full of moments like finding oneself in front of the Amazon listing for Final Exit and thinking, “maybe I’ll just read some of the reviews.”

Rilke wrote something like this: it’s not actually possible to communicate emotions in a way that is existentially satisfying. He was talking about the compulsion to create, and how we make things in a desperate attempt to transmit as much of our inner selves to our fellows – to share the experiences that profoundly affect us.

Sharing is an act of love. Just ask a primatologist. The initial need to create is often selfish, but sharing those creations with others is to lay yourself bare and trust that you won’t have your guts ripped out.